


Rootless

by fellowshipper



Series: grief in the sound, guilt in the fame [5]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dr. Doom: Professional Accidental Matchmaker, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-06
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-02-27 00:10:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18727684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fellowshipper/pseuds/fellowshipper
Summary: After a long, inexplicable, and infuriating absence, Loki reappears in Tony's life. Tony is . . . happy? Also, beware Greeks (and Norse gods) bearing gifts.Also also, Loki has very good reason for being absent for so long. It's not a reason Tony wants to hear, but he rarely gets what he wants in life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So after sitting on this for two years, I've finally decided to return to it. Endgame feels, y'all. I have 'em. Lots of 'em. 
> 
> I'm still working on this, so here's a little prologue of sorts. I've got the next chapter ready to go, but I always like to be a few chapters ahead when posting WIPs, so . . . 
> 
> As a reminder, this series takes place roughly sometime between Avengers and Iron Man 3. I'm not saying I won't reference events that have happened in the MCU canon since then, but officially, they haven't really happened in this story yet unless explicitly stated otherwise. 
> 
> Also a reminder that ratings and tags may change as things progress. You've been warned.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki finally deigns to show back up in Tony's life. Probably to wreck it as usual. But Tony's a glutton for punishment, so...

Pepper Potts was not a hero. She didn’t have special powers or abilities, and despite Tony’s insistence, she also didn’t have armor to transform her into a living weapon. Still, she considered herself a fairly brave person. She hadn’t cracked when Tony went missing in Afghanistan. She hadn’t let herself be bullied by senior board members who were already discussing restructuring and who should be next in line to head the company, nor did she ever for a moment let them say anything less positive than “Tony is alive, and he will come home.” She’d gone skydiving just two weeks earlier with Natalie—Natasha. Supposedly it was a training thing, but Pepper suspected that jumping out of airplanes really was something fun and sane to Natasha, much like anyone else might watch TV or read a book when they got bored. 

Pepper was brave, but she could think of very little that was more terrifying than the trifecta of disaster when it came to Tony Stark: boredom, moping, and an open bar.

Oh, right. That could also all culminate in a very important, very _public_ environment. 

Three years earlier, no one would have batted an eye at Tony’s scathing remarks, all uttered with a false smile and even falser humor. He was a bratty man-child with far too much money for his own good and the luxury to delegate anything that looked like responsibility to the peons beneath him. No one really expected him to behave, not even when he got older. Then the scandals just refocused from drug rumors to photos of him flaunting a hot new model or celebrity on his arm.

Then Iron Man happened, and suddenly Tony became “Anthony” at these gatherings, like what was admittedly a transformative experience for him had been some kind of rite of passage during which he earned the right to a more adult name. He was a certified _hero_ then, even more so after the battle for New York, and moved from the cover of _Rolling Stone_ to _Scientific American_ and _Forbes._ His liability status decreased to a point that multiple universities began making inquiries again about having him deliver graduation speeches, though Carnegie Mellon still held a grudge. The ban, which had come in the form of a very tense phone call between the school president and Pepper, had been put in place after a half-drunk and rambling speech Tony delivered in 2002, during which he repeatedly told a room full of graduates—and their families—that “probably no one” would think less of them for not being good enough to get into MIT. 

Pepper had thought the days of messy PR cleanup duty were behind her. That wasn’t to say that handling Tony’s reputation was a cakewalk, but she wasn’t being guilt-tripped into making a substantial company donation to an offended campus’s scholarship pool.

Which was why she had spent the past several weeks wondering how she could convince JARVIS to lock Tony inside the tower and refuse to allow him to exit until he sorted out whatever was going on in his head. It seemed more ethical than homicide, at any rate, even the justifiable variety.

It was supposed to just be an ordinary appearance. Tony would show up to the banquet, exchange pleasantries and nod politely as though he actually cared about or even heard what someone was telling him. He’d pose for some press pictures, and Pepper would be his date for the evening, serving as both business associate and babysitter. That was how it had always worked.

_Had_ worked.

Rather than being his usual charming, schmoozing self, Tony had spent most of the evening wavering between indifference to outright hostility. He’d played Fruit Ninja on his phone the entire time the guest speaker was on stage, though he had at least waved when the speaker mentioned him by name—but he still hadn’t looked up from his phone.

When a marketing rep from Apple stepped up to speak next, Tony seemed to perk up, which Pepper took as a good sign. Technology was a sure way to win his interest, so she had relaxed until the speaker began taking questions. Then it all went to hell. Suddenly, she felt like Wilson trying to sink into and through her seat when House began grilling some peon of lesser intelligence during a guest lecture. Tony started picking apart the latest iOS iteration that the rep had just finished gushing over, pointing out one design flaw after another (and even slipping in one especially distasteful crack about the engineers’ mothers) until the speaker awkwardly shuffled to the other side of the stage to take someone else’s question.

Needless to say, dinner was tense.

“The chicken’s dry.”

“The chicken’s fine.”

“No, look. It’s flakey. Chicken shouldn’t flake unless it’s separated into pieces and comes in a bucket.”

“It’s _fine_.”

Pepper smiled tightly at a passing reporter, then leaned slightly to the side just against Tony’s ear. Teeth bared in a forced smile, she muttered under her breath, “Tony, I swear to God. If you don’t behave, I’m going to stab you with my salad fork.” She squeezed his thigh under the table just to make sure she had his attention. “In the crotch.”

Tony laughed quietly and tipped his (fifth? sixth?) glass of scotch at Pepper in a mock salute. “You’re the boss.”

“That’s right. I am.” As soon as the reporter passed without stopping for a quote, Pepper turned to face Tony, her smile falling immediately into a frown. “But I’m also your friend. And purely as a friend, I have to tell you that you’re being a raging asshole.”

“How is that different from any other time?”

“Not just tonight,” Pepper corrected, spearing a cherry tomato on the end of her fork and pushing it around her plate. “Although tonight _has_ been an exemplary lesson in the value of sedating you before I take you out into public.”

Tony smirked, then spluttered in irritation when Pepper reached over and wrapped her fingers around the tumbler of scotch, gently lowering it back to the table.

“You’ve been acting like this for weeks. Months, even. If there’s anything you need to tell me—”

“There’s not.” 

“But if there was—” 

“I know.” 

“—I’d listen. And everything is in strict confidence with me. You know that too, don’t—” 

“For Christ’s sake, Pepper, stop. I’m not on drugs. I’m not hosting wild orgies or buying off politicians or whatever. Nothing’s wrong.” Pepper dropped her gaze to the scotch still on the table. When Tony followed her line of sight, he shrugged. “You gotta leave me at least one vice.” 

With a huff, Pepper rolled her eyes and leaned away in her seat, sullenly poking at the remains of her dinner. 

Tony, meanwhile, propped his chin in his hand and stared down at the glass in front of him. Maybe Pepper was right. Maybe he was acting like a raging asshole—more than usual, as she’d been quick to point out. She wasn’t the first to call him out on it, either. That honor had gone to Steve, of all people, but that had been in the context of battle. As usual. Tony had gotten more than a few lectures about being reckless and careless during a fight, and he’d be glad to never hear another variation on “if you’re going to be part of this team, you have to work _with_ the team.” 

So what caused it—the moodiness, the extra-biting sarcasm, all of it? The business was doing fine. Better than fine. His health was good. His friends were doing well. His and Pepper’s relationship could still only be described as occasional, but they were on good terms, for the most part.

 The only thing that had changed, and the only thing Tony didn’t want to think about, was that he’d become increasingly difficult to manage following Loki’s last disappearing act. 

No one had seen or heard from Loki in months—not even Thor, who was perhaps the only other person on this or any other planet who actually wanted to see Loki again. After the night when Tony had walked in to find Loki waiting for him in his bedroom, not nearly drunk enough to handle her fur cloak, ridiculous goat horns, or the “gift” she’d brought him, Loki hadn’t returned to the tower. That by itself wasn’t too out of the norm. She seemed to make a habit of visiting Tony at random times and then disappearing for weeks afterward. 

What made this time different was that she had gone completely off the radar. When she wasn’t busy twisting Tony into some new and obscene position or meditating on his balcony, she—or he, depending on the mood—could be relied on to stir up the public peace sooner or later. S.H.I.E.L.D. hadn’t been able to pick up any trace of her presence, even around her standard partners-in-crime. Then again, Tony reasoned, Doom probably wouldn’t welcome her back into his confidence after she freed his guinea pig and source of limitless energy. 

“I do not know where my brother hides,” Thor admitted when Tony gave up and asked about Loki’s whereabouts three months after their last meeting. “Between my father’s throne, my mother’s natural abilities, and Heimdall’s all-seeing gaze, there should be no place in any fiber of reality where Loki can avoid detection. But he has a way of proving me wrong at every turn.” 

“Maybe he’s dead,” Clint pointed out over lunch one day, sometime around the six month mark. Thor had glowered at him from across the room, but Clint pushed on. “I mean, do you have a better explanation? When has he _ever_ been this quiet?” 

“If Loki were dead,” Thor all but growled, nearly crushing the bottle in his hand as he spoke, “I would know it.” 

That night, for the first time in years, Tony got blackout drunk and woke up next to a pile of his own vomit on the bathroom floor, with no memory of how he got there. Pathetic, honestly. So he’d been dumped. Wasn’t the first time. So his team’s primary threat had been effectively neutralized. That was cause for celebration, right? 

Loki wasn’t dead. He trusted Thor’s instincts. He also trusted that anyone who actually managed to kill the bastard would have bragged so loudly about it that it wouldn’t be a secret for five minutes. 

So that meant he’d been dumped. 

He scratched absently at his goatee, hand going still when he caught an achingly familiar whiff of cinnamon and wet earth. Twisting around in his chair so quickly he nearly upset it, he scanned the surrounding area and only saw the same disappointing faces that had been there all along. 

He turned back around in his seat and stared at the glass again. Drinking was the proper solution to insanity. Or if it wasn’t, it damn well should have been. 

“Waiter,” he called to a passing server, draining the rest of his scotch and hoisting the glass up into the air, deliberately avoiding looking in Pepper’s direction as he did so. 

“I think you’ve had enough already. Don’t you?” 

Oh, that was cold. Pepper was much more subtle than that, and she had always pulled him back from the brink without making a scene. Except that hadn’t been Pepper’s voice. This voice had been deeper and whispered directly into his ear, a secretive wisp of noise that was more like a suggestion than an actual voice. 

Tony _knew_ that voice, and he lost his grip on the glass as he whipped around in his chair again. The glass hit the table first, then the floor, but remained in one piece. 

“Tony?” 

And that one _was_ Pepper. When Tony turned to look at her, she was watching him with the wary mixture of concern and disapproval that he was so used to seeing from her when he was in such a state. 

“Was someone talking to me just now?” 

The line in Pepper’s brow went just a bit deeper. “Are you feeling all right? Let me call Happy to come pick us up.”

 “No, I—” 

“That sounds like a good idea,” said the voice at Tony’s ear again, and this time he went perfectly still. “Come back to your tower. I should very much like to see you again, Tony Stark.” 

His eyes flitted wildly about, or as much as he could manage without arousing even more suspicion, and he was rewarded with a quiet chuckle. 

“Don’t be alarmed. You haven’t quite lost your mind. Not yet, anyway. I’m here, but I’m not. I can’t very well show up in public and mount you as I’d like, can I?” There was the briefest pause. “Though that is rather a tempting thought.” 

“Okay.” Tony swallowed and nodded, hiding the faint trembling in his hands by wiping a napkin over the spilled mess on the table. 

Pepper, still frowning, picked up her phone from where it lay face-down on the table. 

An apologetic server rushed over to take away the glass, and Pepper reached Happy and asked him to come by early, but all Tony could think of was the scent of rotting leaves and the almost-there touch of a hand against his cheek.


	2. Sober

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Next time Tony decides he misses Loki and wants her or him to come back, he needs to be a little more specific about exactly how Loki is allowed to show back up in his life. 
> 
> And what new lives she's allowed to bring with her.

Tony tried not to be disappointed when he wasn’t immediately pushed against a wall and stripped naked the moment he set foot in the penthouse. Tried—and failed. It wasn’t like Loki had ever been shy about that (or anything else) before. But when there was still no sign of her an hour later, Tony began to wonder if maybe Pepper hadn’t been right about him—the mood swings, the increased drinking, all of it. Maybe he really was so pathetic that he’d hallucinated at the dinner. He’d wanted to believe so badly that Loki was near that his own senses had betrayed him. 

She wasn’t in the bedroom or the workshop, her two favorite locations. Really, they were the only ones she had ever expressed any interest in visiting. Tony knew she wouldn’t dare go near the lab, not when Bruce spent so much time there, but he checked anyway. He checked the team’s common area, though he knew everyone was out and that Loki preferred to stay far away from that area. He even tried the roof, where Loki—usually in a blood-splattered male form—sometimes liked to sit and watch the busy streets below.

“Ridiculous,” Tony muttered to himself as he walked along the tower’s landing pad and back into the penthouse. “I look like such a tool. Played by the _god_ of tools.” 

“Is that really what you think? How unkind of you. It isn’t entirely wrong, though.” 

Tony stopped so abruptly that he almost tripped over a low chair. Though her back was to him and she sat tucked under the overhang of the bar, there was no mistaking that long fall of black hair—or, for that matter, that voice, which had always seemed to hold varying degrees of mockery on different levels, like she was castigating him in multiple ways Tony couldn’t even begin to comprehend. 

Loki turned just enough to grin at Tony over her shoulder. “Good evening, Tony.” 

“Where the hell have you been?” 

“Here and there,” she answered breezily, one shoulder lifting in a careless shrug. “If this is how you normally greet a lover after a long absence, I can see why you remain single.” 

Tony laughed sharply despite himself, nervous energy giving way to more familiar territory in flirtatious banter. “I looked all over the place,” he answered on his way over to the bar, stopping behind it to scan the shelves for a particular whiskey. He had no intentions of making himself sound even more desperate by complaining that Loki had been gone for over a year without so much as a hint where she was. He wasn’t _needy_ , even though the curve of Loki’s mouth suggested she already knew.

“I only just arrived. Traveling these days is a bit more complicated than it was when we last met.” 

“If you say so.” Tony pulled the sought-after bottle from a shelf, then two glasses from a cabinet. “Want some? Damn good stuff.” 

“I already helped myself, thank you,” Loki answered, holding up a mostly full glass of water, complete with a slice of lemon perched on the rim. Tony squinted as he took in the sight. Loki was an even bigger lush than he was; she just handled her alcohol better. Weird alien physiology and all that. She had never once declined a drink, even if she didn’t consume it, and that alone was enough to make Tony suspicious. 

“You become a teetotaler while you were MIA? That’s pretty selfish. I need someone to enable my bad habits.” 

“I believe I enable you more than enough in other ways.” Loki smiled and took a sip of her water as if making a point. “Besides, I shouldn’t drink in my condition. Though believe me, I _very_ dearly want to.” 

“Your . . . condition,” Tony echoed blankly, eyebrows lifting. 

Loki said nothing. Instead, her reply came by way of pushing away from the counter and standing. Tony noticed with a twinge of concern that she had to grip the edge of the bar for support. She stepped back far enough for Tony to see— 

“Oh.” 

Her plain black shift bulged out at her midsection, and her breasts were full and heavy against the upper swell of her stomach. 

“I, uh . . . congratulations?” Tony downed his shot and immediately moved to refill it. “Who’s the poor bastard Thor’s gonna kill?” 

Although Loki’s eyes narrowed slightly at the mention of her brother’s name, she still seemed as unconcerned as she ever did with anything Tony said. “You’re not a stupid man, Stark.” 

Which wasn’t an answer at all, no matter how Tony’s brain locked up in the beginning stages of panic. “So why tell me?” 

“A father has a right to know, does he not? Or is that not a custom followed in this realm?” 

Tony barked out a noise that could only charitably be called a laugh. “You missed the boat, sweetheart. I haven’t seen you in, what, a year? More?” Just shy of fifteen months, actually, but who was counting? Besides JARVIS. JARVIS was always counting, the bastard. “So unless you somehow managed to sneak in and grab a sperm donation while I was asleep, I’m going to have to call your bluff.” 

“Oh, but there is no bluff. Human pregnancies are brief because you live such short lives. My kind, on the other hand . . .” 

“Okay,” Tony started, holding his glass up and touching the bottom rim to his forehead. The cool glass felt refreshing against his suddenly warm face. “Okay. Let’s just say for the sake of argument that I believe you. Why wait until now to say anything?” 

“My control over this body is troublesome at the best of times. Supporting a parasite as well is more of a strain than I anticipated. I was unsure I could maintain this state, or even that I wished to do so.” 

Tony downed another shot. That seemed to be the appropriate response to the beginning of one of Loki’s intricate tales or, rarer still, an actual confession. 

“I stayed in Asgard as long as I could, hidden as well as my dwindling magic would allow. When the stress to my abilities grew too strong, I chose to come here while I still had the strength to transport myself.” Loki paused and took another drink of water, her eyes fixed on the bar top as though it had only just captured her full interest. “Someone of my reputation acquires many enemies who would be only too happy to take advantage of my situation.” 

Something—anger? disappointment? betrayal?—twisted in Tony’s gut. “You deliberately got yourself knocked up so you could hide out here, didn’t you?” 

“Not deliberately, no,” Loki corrected. “But as it happens, I find myself in quite a dilemma. Was it too presumptuous of me to believe the father of my child might lend assistance?” 

Tony groaned and twisted the glass in his hand so that he could rub his fingertips against his forehead. “Jesus fucking Christ, Loki. This is like every nightmare I’ve ever had, all rolled into one and cranked up to eleven.” Loki remained quiet. Tony poured another shot and swallowed it down, hoping the sting of the whiskey would somehow burn every memory of this encounter as surely as it would ruin his throat. “You do realize that the whole ‘god of lies’ thing makes this really hard to buy, don’t you?” 

“If the child were Asgardian or similar,” Loki began, rolling her eyes in that way that always indicated that she thought Tony’s reputation as a genius had been grossly and unfairly exaggerated, “I would not be nearly so close to term. And I can assure you that no other mortal could ever hope to take me in my current form.” 

“Current form?” Tony blurted out automatically, hating himself even as the words pushed their way out of his mouth. “Even Doom?” To his credit, he didn’t immediately wilt under the glare Loki leveled at him. 

“The subject came up once. As it happened, Victor’s tastes were incompatible with my own.” 

“I knew it. He has a sex dungeon, doesn’t he? But that’d probably do it for you. I bet Clint’s right. Guy’s even got a metal-plated dick. Is that it?” 

The corners of Loki’s mouth tugged up into a knowing smirk. “You of all people should know that that alone would not deter me.” 

Although he knew he shouldn’t, Tony still laughed. “Fuck you.” Loki’s eyes lit up, but Tony raised a hand to stop the innuendo (or command, given who he was dealing with) before it could come. “No. We’ve got enough problems already.” 

“Do you really think this is a problem?” Loki asked, her tone indifferent and her expression blocked when she turned to walk toward the sitting area. Tony watched her make herself at home on the couch, even going so far as to toe her shoes off before pulling her legs up beside her. 

“Are you—really? There is no part of this that _isn’t_ a problem! You, me, us . . . that,” Tony finished with a pointed finger aimed at Loki’s protruding stomach. “I’m pretty sure just your presence here would be enough for Fury to ship me off to a nice comfy cell in Gitmo. Then you just show up one day like, surprise, you’re the father, and you expect that to go well?” 

“Not at all. I’ve no intentions of revealing your treason. Well, not yet, and not over this,” she amended with a thoughtful pat to her belly. “I’m counting on Thor’s astounding lack of sound judgment to win out.” 

“So why tell me?” 

“I already answered that.” Loki cocked her head, hair spilling over her shoulder. “Perhaps you should stop drinking, as I suggested earlier. Your faculties are leaving you.” 

“No, I mean, why tell me any of this? Why not just go right to Thor? Cut out the middle man, you know?” 

Loki stared at the water she had taken with her to the couch, and no matter how Tony reminded himself that everything about her was a very carefully constructed lie, the gesture seemed real enough to lure him in closer. 

“Because I would like for you to be involved in this child’s life, Tony. One way or another. I don’t believe either of us had much by way of a positive father presence in our lives. If I can help it, I would rather not perpetuate that unfortunate cycle.” 

Tony whistled, low and quiet, and shook his head as he walked nearer to the couch. “You’re something else, coming here with that bullshit story and expecting me to bite like the suckers you con everywhere else.” Loki looked up, eyes wide and angry, and Tony rode right over whatever she might have been preparing to say. “You played a good game. The fertility ritual bit from last time was a nice touch. But I’m gonna let you in on something: you gotta learn to quit while you’re ahead. I might have believed you up until your little martyr act there.” 

“How dare you—” 

“No, Loki, how dare _you_? We had a good thing going before you decided to fuck it up just like you always do by playing one of your pointless games, _like you always do._ ” 

When Loki spoke, her voice was tight and strained, proof enough for Tony that he’d struck exactly the nerve he wanted. “I would not lower myself to seek your help if I had any other choice, you miserable, self-important wretch.” 

“I bet you’re not even really pregnant, are you?” 

Loki snarled and moved as though to lunge at Tony, but she slumped back against the couch and settled for throwing her glass at him. At least her aim was still perfect; Tony moved away just in time for the glass to go sailing through the space his head had occupied a fraction of a second earlier. He winced and ducked instinctively when the glass shattered against the wall behind him. 

When he looked up again, Loki was—well, there was no other way to describe it but pouting. Or maybe plotting his death. The two emotions were remarkably similar for her. Either way, her arms were folded tightly over her chest, and she stared resolutely as much in the opposite direction as she could manage. 

“You didn’t . . .” 

Tony trailed off. The Loki he knew—the one he had fought with and against, the one who shared drinks with him, the one he had fucked and been fucked by until he collapsed in exhausted satisfaction—would have teleported and thrown _him_ against the wall instead. In any form, Loki would have retaliated, and there probably would have been some blood and a lot of cursing before the inevitable, angry makeup sex. Even if she left in a self-righteous fit of childishness, she wouldn’t have just sat there. Unless . . . 

_Traveling these days is a bit more complicated._

_I chose to come here while I still had the strength to transport myself._

No. This was part of the act. Loki had not only lied to him; she _was_ a lie. She had spent centuries perfecting her two best crafts, sorcery and deceit, and Tony would be the gullible idiot she had always accused him of being if he believed her even for a second. 

He stepped closer to the couch, heart thrumming hard enough in his chest that he suspected anyone in the tower could have heard it. “Holy shit,” he whispered after a long silence. “Holy _shit_. You really are pregnant, aren’t you?” 

“You are a twice-damned fool, Tony Stark, and I regret thinking that hurling you from a great height would be enough to kill you. Your ego alone kept you aloft long enough to survive.” 

Tony very cautiously seated himself at the far end of the couch, whiskey clutched in his hand. 

“I should have gutted you like the worthless beast you are. I should have torn that simple gadget from your chest with my bare hands and made you choke on it before your pathetic human form could die for its absence.” 

Tony scooted closer. Loki glanced over at him, then went right back to staring in the other direction. 

“If you squeeze that glass much harder, you’ll break it. With luck, you’ll sever an artery so that I might be rid of you after all.” 

“You keep talking dirty to me like that, I might change my mind about having another go with you.” 

“I’m glad this is so terribly amusing to you.” 

“How . . .” Tony trailed off for what seemed like the hundredth time since walking into the penthouse, worrying his lip between his teeth as he watched Loki’s fingers drum restlessly against her midsection. “How long before . . .?” 

Slowly, Loki’s jaw unclenched, though she apparently still didn’t deem Tony worth enough of her time to even look his way. “Soon. A matter of weeks, I suspect. No longer than two moons, certainly.” 

“So you have to be pregnant for almost a year and a half? Not gonna lie. That sucks balls.” 

Loki let out a quiet snort. “I might have chosen a different phrase, but yes, it does. Though there is at least some benefit to your humanity. Were you any other being, I would carry for much longer.” 

Tony stared down at his hands, his feet, the glass trinkets and artsy books no one had ever read carefully arranged on the coffee table. He wished he’d thought to bring the whiskey over to the couch with him. Wished a lot of things, actually, but most of all, he wished he could trust the trickster god sitting beside him, the one who never had anything but lies and chaos and madness on her mind. 

“Why are you here?” 

An exasperated sigh, and then, “Really, Stark? Has all that alcohol actually rotted your brain? We _just_ talked about this.” 

“No, I mean, I know you’re . . . you know,” Tony finished lamely, flicking a couple fingers in Loki’s direction as if saying the word “pregnant” again would make it real this time. He shifted in his seat, and Loki finally turned her head to look at him; the burning indignation in her eyes had given way (not entirely, but mostly) to curiosity, so Tony thought it safe to continue his line of questioning. 

“Why are you here telling me this? Why aren’t you still in Asgard? If it’s hard for you to get around, why not just stay there and, I don’t know, email me or something? Send a carrier pigeon? Whatever you guys do to get messages where they need to go.” 

“Because I want to be here,” Loki answered bluntly, eyes fixed on Tony’s. “I am only ever where I want to be. And I choose to be here now.” She conjured another glass of water from thin air, then shrugged in response to Tony’s questioning look. “It takes very little effort to do that. Crossing the realms is another matter entirely. But as I was saying, I want to be here.” She murmured something else lost to the rim of her glass. 

“What?” 

“What?” 

“You said something else. I didn’t hear you.” 

Loki blinked, seemingly a bit alarmed, then sighed. “I feel safer here. Any child of mine would . . . let’s just say they wouldn’t be welcome in Asgard. But here, with _your_ people, a child of _your_ blood . . .” 

“You’re still really not doing much to disprove my theory you planned all this.” 

Loki smiled then, sweetly enough to almost be disarming, but the edge was still there, sharp and cruel as ever. “You really need to stop trying to solve every mystery, you know. Life becomes quite boring with no more questions to answer.” 

“This from the same guy—and you _were_ a guy then—who told me he once literally jumped off the face of the planet just to find out what happened next. I guess you’re really not gonna like this next part.” Quizzical, even suspicious green eyes turned toward him, and Tony shrank a little under the scrutiny. “I was just thinking that I always figured the first thing I’d say in this scenario is that I want a paternity test.”

 “Oh.” 

Tony waited, counting down the seconds in his head until he presumed Loki would hoist him by his throat and fling him through the next several walls. When she said nothing else, he made a rolling gesture at her with his hand.

“So . . .” 

Green eyes narrowed. “So what?” 

“I have to say it? I thought that was pretty self-explanatory.” 

“And I thought the same of my response.” 

Tony let out an exasperated sigh and slumped back against the couch cushions. “Do you intentionally keep running this conversation in circles, or is it just habit?” He draped his arm along the back of the couch, stretching until he caught a strand of Loki’s hair between his fingers. He worried it against his fingertips until Loki pulled back, her hair falling away and out of Tony’s reach in the process. He rolled his eyes. 

“Babe, come on. Let’s be real here. How am I supposed to believe anything you ever tell me?” 

“Have I lied to you before?” 

“Of course you have,” Tony shot back immediately, startled she would even think to ask such a thing. When met only with raised eyebrows, he cleared his throat and sat up a bit straighter. “I mean, you’re . . . you’re _you_ , Loki. That’s what you _do._ You’ve lied to me.” 

“When?” 

“I . . .” Tony trailed off, silently cursing himself for having blurted that out so quickly—and cursing Loki for her infuriating triumphant smirk when she knew she had backed him into a corner. “Okay, so I can’t think of a _specific_ time, but—” 

“Then isn’t that enough?” 

Tony blinked, then laughed. “Uh, no. Sorry,” he added when Loki’s nose wrinkled and the smirk slipped. “Hey, you’re the one who’s spent the better part of a millennium making a name for yourself as the _god of lies_ and screwing over anyone dumb enough to believe you. Don’t blame _me_ for your reputation.” 

Loki huffed and looked away for a moment before turning her attention back to Tony. Somehow, in the span of those few seconds, she seemed to have deflated, her resolve still as hard as ever but her visible will to fight dying down from its usual raging intensity to a flickering ember beneath something that looked completely out of place on her. As much as Tony tried to remind himself that Loki was a manipulator by nature—a damned good one who had spent centuries honing her craft—it didn’t matter. He’d seen that look before on Loki, just once, when the god showed up in his usual male form to share a drink and, much to Tony’s delighted surprise, stories. 

They had sat on the expansive balcony outside the Malibu estate, quietly passing a bottle back and forth and watching the sun gradually drop from the sky and cast its red-orange glow across the ocean. Tony didn’t know why Loki only ever seemed to show up at sunset. Maybe he really _was_ a vampire. Certainly as pale and creepy as one, anyway. 

That evening, without prompting, just as the first stars began to twinkle, Loki began to talk—about his childhood, about sneaking out onto the Bifrost to count the stars as he appeared to be doing just then, about silly pranks he pulled on Thor and Thor’s friends—and he was always very deliberate about referring to them as _Thor’s_ friends. 

He spoke about a prank gone wrong and a terrible punishment being exacted, and though he did not mention specifics, the sick feeling in Tony’s stomach filled in the horrific details when he caught Loki touching the curiously symmetrical scars at his mouth while he recounted the story. 

There were many other stories, some humorous, many outrageous, a few too personal for Tony’s comfort—those were the ones when Loki’s entire body language changed, when his voice deepened and he refused to look away from the waves lapping at the shore below. Those were the most telling ones, and the ones Tony both longed to memorize and the ones he wished he hadn’t heard, not when it meant watching Loki’s eyes go dark and haunted until he took several long pulls from the bottle and passed it along. Then he had launched into a silly story about the time he convinced Thor a pretty rock he’d found on Vanaheim was really a type of egg that just needed special preparation and that it would _really_ be worth the effort if Thor could just figure out how to cook it properly. 

There was no rhyme or reason for why happy stories seemed to make Loki think of stories which were decidedly _not_ happy, nor why telling the unhappy stories then made him launch into grand tales about some battle or hunting trip or whatever else that popped into his head. Still, Tony hadn’t dared interrupt, even when Loki’s voice grew hoarse and raspy from talking for so long; he was afraid of speaking up and breaking whatever spell had momentarily fallen over them, afraid Loki would notice he was leaning against Tony’s shoulder and tracing his delicate fingertips along Tony’s knee and thigh. 

Somehow, Tony got the distinct impression he wasn’t actually meant to hear _any_ of those stories, like he was prying while someone verbally exorcised every demon that had taken up residence in their heart. But it had been beautiful regardless, even when Loki’s eyes had shone in the darkness, wet with tears he was too proud to shed. His lips had trembled when Tony kissed them, and Tony could still remember the taste of expensive scotch and something vaguely sour on Loki’s tongue, like he’d vomited hours earlier. Tony hadn’t asked about _that_ , either. 

Hours later, between punctuating stories with the occasional kiss or bathroom break, Loki had stopped suddenly and looked at Tony, _really_ looked at him, sudden clarity and horror dawning on his sharp features. Ignoring Tony’s protests to stay, he’d thanked Tony for the alcohol and then quite literally disappeared into thin air. 

It was weeks before Tony saw him again, this time in his increasingly familiar female shape—and she was clearly in no mood to chat. She had practically thrown Tony to the floor, spending just as much time as necessary to get him ready before she pulled his jeans down over his hips, mounted him, and left him a stunned, panting wreck as she sated herself. She didn’t speak a word to him that time, and yet even as her body shook and her face contorted in pleasure, Tony could still only see sharp lines softened by long-forgotten stories, haunted eyes and the frightened realization that they all revealed too much. 

Now, nearly two years later, Tony finally learned what that same vulnerability looked like on Loki’s female form. He still didn’t like it; it still made him feel that he was stealing peeks at something that was meant to be hidden away not just from the world, but from Loki herself. 

“I’m not unaware of who I am and what I’m asking of you,” Loki began, her voice all the more chilling for its softness as it pulled Tony back into the present. “But this once, I need you to trust me.” 

How many times had Loki used that line, Tony wondered. How many times had she—or he, more likely—been honest about crying wolf and been ignored? But then, his treasonous mind prompted, how many times had Loki begged someone to entirely forget who she was while also looking so uncharacteristically fragile? How much of that fragility was even real, anyway? 

And then again, how many semi-permanent lovers had Loki taken? That alone deserved _some_ sort of recognition, didn’t it? 

Tony chewed at the inside of his cheek for a moment before finally nodding and muttering his quiet agreement. Almost immediately, the tension that had stiffened Loki’s posture eased, making her shoulders drop and her breathing resume a normal pattern. For such a talented liar, those were some pretty glowing tells, prompting Tony to wonder yet again just how much of this—any of it—was real. 

As usual, though, getting a glimpse of Loki that very few ever saw and even fewer lived to remember was enough to keep him from voicing that same suspicion. In return, Loki offered up a grateful half-smile as she settled deeper into the couch. She placed the glass on the end table and folded her hands atop her distended stomach. 

“Are you planning on telling anyone else, or . . .?” 

“Eventually,” she answered without opening her eyes. “Though it would be a moot point if I did so with an infant in my arms.” 

“I’ll have to,” Tony pointed out. “I can’t see Fury being too happy about Avengers HQ turning into a daycare for bastard godlings.” 

“No, I don’t suppose he would be,” Loki agreed with another small grin. She drummed her fingers lightly against her stomach. “Do as you wish, Stark. Despite whatever you may think, the sole aim of my existence is not to antagonize you.” She cracked one eye open at last. “However entertaining that may be.” 

“Such a sweetheart,” Tony murmured. Loki didn’t reply, and for a few moments, Tony wondered if she had fallen asleep. Her lips had parted just a little, and the steady rise and fall of her chest seemed more relaxed than before. Part of him, the part he was allowing to take all of this at face value, wanted to curl up beside her and let her drift off in the safety of his arms, or the illusion of safety, anyway. They both knew she was more than capable of handling any threat that presented itself, certainly far more than Tony himself was. But damn it all, he wanted to be supportive. 

Instead, as if putting physical distance between them could also curb his sudden emotional streak, he got to his feet to find a broom and dustpan to clean up the shards of glass on the floor from where Loki had thrown her glass at him earlier. She opened her eyes upon hearing the clink-clink-clink of glass first in the dustpan and then in the garbage can, and the weight of her gaze was such that Tony felt hairs standing up on the back of his neck until he turned to look at her from the bar. 

“Do you . . . are you hungry? Do you want anything?” 

She shook her head. “I helped myself when I first arrived. You should get some more strawberries, by the way.” 

“I have, like, five pounds of them in there,” Tony muttered, staring in shock at the refrigerator and looking back at Loki just in time to see her smile. 

“Yes, you _did_ have that many. I’m very fond of them, and I’m eating not just for myself now.” 

Tony reached up to scratch at his beard. “You ate five pounds of strawberries? In one sitting?” 

“If you’re going to interrogate me about everything you have on offer, I’ll be sure to find food elsewhere next time.” 

“No, it’s fine, it’s just . . .” Tony shook his head. “Sometimes I just forget you and Thor are aliens. Like, honest-to-god _aliens_ , weird biology and everything.” 

No response to that, so Tony shrugged and braced his hands against the bar to support himself while he leaned into it. Loki looked peaceful, a rare and enchanting sort of calmness softening her points and angles. Oh, she was every bit still a dagger cloaked in velvet to be sure—Loki could never be anything else, regardless of the form taken—but that she looked so relaxed for once, so comfortable— 

“Stop staring and say whatever you need to say.” 

Tony cleared his throat. The apparent softness did not, it seemed, extend to Loki’s personality. 

“Do you want to be there when I tell them?” 

Loki’s eyes cracked open again. “Do you think that’s wise?” 

“I don’t know. That’s why I asked.” 

“Tell them what you like, Anthony. With or without my presence. Their opinions mean as much to me as a grain of sand means to the universe.” 

“Right,” Tony answered with a snort. “That’s cute. They can still fuck us both up and you know it.” 

Loki’s eyes opened fully that time, darker than they truly were in the dim lighting. Tony set his jaw and refused to look away. Never look away from a predator. Rule one of the jungle. Or something. 

Finally, Loki shrugged one shoulder before burrowing even deeper into the corner of the couch. “I will attend whatever inane meeting you’ve planned. Tomorrow. I’m weary from traveling, and I wish to sleep.” 

Swallowing hard past the knot in his throat, Tony nodded. “Okay. Okay. Tomorrow then. We, uh. We just gather everyone together and lay it all out on the table. Yeah. We can do that.” 

Even by the time Loki had drifted to sleep, after Tony had pulled the blanket from the back of the couch and draped it over her, Tony was already regretting not having just kicked her out of his lab the first time she’d shown up with chaos and lust burning in her veins. Ever since she had shown up, eyes wicked and promising to drag him down into her madness, Tony’s life had gone even farther off the rails. 

And God help him, he _still_ hadn’t found a way to say no.


End file.
